Christmas Songs For The Mentally Disturbed

  • Schizophrenia
    Do you Hear What I Hear?
  • Multiple Personality Disorder
    We Three Queens Disoriented Are
  • Dementia
    I Think I’ll Be Home for Christmas
  • Narcissistic
    Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me
  • Manic
    Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office
    and Town and Cars and Busses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and…..
  • Paranoid
    Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me.
  • Personality Disorder
    You Better Watch Out,
    I’m Gonna Cry,
    I’m Gonna Pout,
    Maybe I’ll tell you Why.
  • Depression
    Silent Anhedonia, Holy Anhedonia
    All is Flat, All is Lonely.
  • Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
    Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,
    Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,
    Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,

  • Passive-Aggressive Personality
    On the First Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me
    (and then took it all away).
  • Borderline Personality Disorder
    Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire.

Martha Stewart’s Christmas Letter to Erma Bombeck

Hi Erma,

This perfectly delightful note is being sent on paper I made myself to tell you what I have been up to. Since it snowed last night, I got up early and made a sled with old barn wood and a glue gun. I hand painted it in gold leaf, got out my loom, and made a blanket in peaches and mauves. Then to make the sled complete, I made a white horse to pull it, from DNA that I had just sitting around in my craft room.

By then, it was time to start making the place mats and napkins for my 20 breakfast guests. I’m serving the old standard Stewart twelve-course breakfast, but I’ll let you in on a little secret: I didn’t have time to make the tables and chairs this morning, so I used the ones I had on hand.

Before I moved the table into the dining room, I decided to add just a touch of the holidays. So I repainted the room in pinks and stenciled gold stars on the ceiling. Then, while the homemade bread was rising, I took antique candle molds and made the dishes (exactly the same shade of pink) to use for breakfast. These were made from Hungarian clay, which you can get at almost any Hungarian craft store.

Well, I must run. I need to finish the buttonholes on the dress I’m wearing for breakfast. I’ll get out the sled and drive this note to the post office as soon as the glue dries on the envelope I’ll be making.

Hope my breakfast guests don’t stay too long, I have 40,000 cranberries to string with bay leaves before my speaking engagement at noon. It’s a good thing.

Martha Stewart

P.S. When I made the ribbon for this typewriter, I used 1/8-inch gold gauze. I soaked the gauze in a mixture of white grapes and blackberries which I grew, picked, and crushed last week just for fun.

Response from Erma Bombeck:

Dear Martha,

I’m writing this on the back of an old shopping list, pay no attention to the coffee and jelly stains. I’m 20 minutes late getting my daughter up for school, packing a lunch with one hand, on the phone with the dog pound, seems old Ruff needs bailing out again. Burnt my arm on the curling iron when I was trying to make those cute curly fries, how DO they do that? Still can’t find the scissors to cut out some snowflakes, tried using an old disposable razor … trashed the tablecloth. Tried that cranberry thing, frozen cranberries mushed up after I defrosted them in the microwave. Oh, and don’t use Fruity Pebbles as a substitute in that Rice Krispie snowball recipe, unless you happen to like a disgusting shade that resembles puke! The smoke alarm is going off, talk to ya later.


Valentine’s Day Greetings from the Mafia

  • My love for you… it came and went.
    So your feet are now in wet cement.
  • I’m here To fulfill your fondest wishes
    Now that your husband sleeps with the fishes.
  • Lie down with me — it’s my final offa,
    Or you’ll be lying wit’ Jimmy Hoffa.
  • I picked up this card from a slim selection
    But that’s all they offer here in witness protection.
    Love, J. Doe
  • I’ve waited so long for you to be mine.
    Now that Sinatra’s dead, be *my* Valentine.
  • Be my Valentine,
    and we can do it execution-style.
  • Cinderella got her fella,
    with a slipper made of glass;
    So please be mine, Valentine,
    or I’ll have to whack your ass.
  • Violets are blue,
    roses are red,
    I blew up your car
    So why ain’t you dead?
  • The day we met, my little pet,
    I knew with just one look
    You’d bear a son, and now that’s done,
    So shut your mouth and cook!
  • Hey.
  • Youse da greatest.
    Youse da best.
    But you’re as untouchable
    as Elliot Ness.
  • Lust is fleeting,
    true love lingers.
    Be mine always
    and you’ll keep your fingers.
  • Hope da chocolates is good, but y’know,
    dis ain’t really what a guy’s heart looks like.
  • Valentine, Dear, lend me a hand
    So I won’t be a self-made man.
  • When a goon makes you die,
    Cuz you told him goodbye
    — that’s amore!

Love Bites My Ass

Hearts and roses and kisses galore,
What the hell is all that crap for?
People get mushy and start acting queer,
It is definitely the most annoying day of the year.
This day needs to get the hell over with and pass,
Before I shove something up Cupid’s ass.
I’ll spend the day so drunk I can’t speak
And wear black for the rest of the week.
Guys act all sweet, but soon it will fade,
For all they are doing is trying to get laid.
The arrow Cupid shot at me must not have hit,
Cause I think this love thing is a crock of shit.
So, here’s my story… what else can I say?
Love bites my ass… Screw Valentines Day!!


As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them.

What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay’s kids’ stockings were overflowed, his poor panty hose hung sadly empty and grew increasingly threadbare.

One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and a fake beard and went in search of an inflatable love doll.

Of course, they don’t sell those things at Wal-Mart. I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown. If you’ve never been in an X-rated store, don’t go. You’ll only confuse yourself.

I was there almost three hours saying things like, “What does this do?” “You’re kidding me!” “Who owns that?” “Do you have their phone number?”

Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section.

I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll suitable for a night of romance that could also substitute as a passenger in my car so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour.

I’m not sure what a complicated doll is. Perhaps one that is subject to wild mood shifts and using a French accent for no reason at all. (That also describes a few ex-boyfriends.)

Finding what I wanted was difficult. Love dolls come in many different models.

The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I’d only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I figured the “vibro-motion” was a feature Jay could live without, so I settled for Lovable Louise. She was at the bottom of the price scale. To call Louise a “doll” took a huge leap of imagination.

On Christmas Eve, with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan and cleverly left the front door key hidden under the mat.

In the wee morning hours, long after Santa had come and gone, I snuck into the house and filled the dangling panty hose with Louise’s pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray.

Then I let myself out, went home, and giggled for a couple of hours.

The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy but had left the dog confused. He would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. I suggested he purchase an inflatable Lassie to set Rover straight.

We also agreed that Louise should remain in her panty hose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.

It seemed like a great idea, except that we forgot that Grandma and Grandpa would be there. My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door.

“What the hell is that?” she asked. My brother quickly explained. “It’s a doll.”

“Who would play with something like that?” Granny snapped. I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut. “Where are her clothes?” Granny continued. I hadn’t seen any in the box, but I kept this information to myself.

“Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran,” Jay said, trying to steer her into the dining room.

But Granny was relentless. “Why doesn’t she have any teeth?” Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, “Hang on Granny, Hang on!”

The dinner went well.

We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise that sounded a lot like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the panty hose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa.

The cat screamed, I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth to mouth resuscitation.

My brother wet his pants and Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car.

It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.

How to Liven Up Thanksgiving Dinner

  • Announce that you would like to start a new family tradition, and proceed to take off your clothes at the dinner table.
  • Open the oven, shove hunks of Velveeta cheese into the turkey while it cooks. Tell mom it adds the coolest flavor.
  • Shoot olive pits at Grandpa’s glasses. (Just pinch them in your fingers and they FLY!!)
  • Whenever someone at the table says a word beginning with the letter R, make a loud “BUZZ”ing noise.
  • Suck your cranberry sauce loudly through a straw.
  • Bring a date that only talks about her/his spouse at home.
  • Hold your nose while you eat.
  • Announce that you’ve got a new fear of choking.
  • When you arrive, promise that your date won’t be more than an hour late, he/she just has to wait for the warden to get together all the necessary release forms, and then they are free to go.

A Kitten’s Days of Christmas

  • On the first day of Christmas, my kitten ruined for me…
    A batch of my special hand-print cookies. I had turned my back to grab the cookie sheet sitting on the stove. In that micro-second, Sara climbed onto the table, poked her paw into the delightfully kneady mixture and, suddenly off-balance, fell into the cookie dough.

    Net loss? Six cups of flour, four cups of sugar, three sticks of butter. Of course, it would have been cheaper to remove the feline ingredient, pick out the hairs, and just rename the recipe Paw Print Cookies.

  • On the second day of Christmas, my kitten accompanied me…
    On a trip to the vet clinic. Who knew that skinny curling ribbon has feline taste appeal? I didn’t.

    Damages: $28 for the office visit, $36 for anesthesia so the veterinarian could take $55 X-rays in case Sara had taste-tested any other Christmas decorations, and a heck of a lot of embarrassment when the vet removed the 3″ curly tail in slightly less than two seconds by tugging at it with a pair of tweezers.

  • On the third day of Christmas, my kitten wrecked for me…
    13 ornaments on my Christmas tree. My mistake was forgetting to chain the decorations to the branches. My other error was leaving the room to go to the bathroom while Sara feigned sleeping under the tree. How was I to know she was actually measuring its climbing potential?

    Value of broken bulbs? $7.50 plus tax.

  • On the fourth day of Christmas, my kitten broke for me…
    A statue in my Lenox Nativity. Would you believe two Wise men plus a head?
    Lenox nativity figurines: $55.99
  • On the fifth day of Christmas, my kitten scratched for me…
    The kid across the street who collects for charity. It was an accident. She merely wanted to reach out and touch someone. Unfortunately, she used an unsheathed claw to do so. I settled out-of-court for the cost of a jacket to replace the boy’s blood stained one and a hefty donation to the charity of their choice. Although the amount must remain secret according to our settlement, let me put it this way. You haven’t seen many soldiers for the Salvation Army this year, have you? Think: Major Windfall!
  • On the sixth day of Christmas, my kitten opened for me…
    The presents beneath my Christmas tree. It was only two, really. While doing some early shopping at a discount store, I purchased a catnip mouse for Sara’s stocking. Apparently, anything in the same bag as catnip takes on its potent aroma for a very long time.

    Replacement costs: $3.99 for another roll of Christmas wrapping paper, $4.50 for two empty boxes, $1 each for the kind of bows Sara can’t unravel.

  • On the seventh day of Christmas, my kitten lost for me…
    The earrings I bought for my sister Mary. Actually, it was one earring but since Mary doesn’t have a hole in her nose or navel, a pair of matching earrings does make a more appealing gift.

    Sale price: $29.95 plus tax.

  • On the eighth day of Christmas, my kitten helped me…
    Replace my E and G guitar strings. Would you believe a kitten could fit into the itty-bitty hole in the middle of my Yamaha guitar? Neither could I, but Sara thought so. And she succeeded once she got those rascally strings out of the way. Unfortunately, her little rear end couldn’t get out the way it went in. After paying through the whiskers for her previous escapades, I would have been willing to leave her in the guitar for the duration of the holiday season, except that she chose to get stuck two hours before I was due at the nursing home for our annual Christmas carol sing-a-long.

    Set of steel guitar strings: $12.95;
    Jar of petroleum jelly: 79 cents.

  • On the ninth day of Christmas, my kitten destroyed for me…
    My Christmas card list when she walked across my computer’s delete key.

    Cost for call to Computer Country’s 900/help line: $17.50. And I still don’t know what happened to the listings of B through H.

  • On the tenth day of Christmas, my kitten hid from me…..
    The remote control from my 13-inch TV. This wouldn’t be such a disaster if she hadn’t previously stolen the power knob. I missed a week’s worth of Christmas specials, including my all-time favorite, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

    Rental of “It’s a Wonderful Life”: $2;
    Purchase of book, “Good Owners, Great Cats”: $24.95. Unfortunately, it never mentions the psychological profile of kittens with kleptomania.

  • On the eleventh day of Christmas, my kitten ate for me…..
    The drumsticks off my 19-pound turkey. OK, OK, So this one time it was my fault. I knew I never should have uttered those now infamous words: “Your first turkey, Sara. Want to try just a little piece?”

    Cost: Christmas Dinner.

  • On the 12th day of Christmas……..
    Sara rested. And so, thank goodness, did my VISA card.

If Wal-Mart Ran Christmas

  • All gifts would be made of the cheapest possible materials available in China or maybe Malaysia by vast armies of workers making a dollar a day.
  • Stockings are filled with cheap toys that break as soon as the kids take them out and candy in odd colors flavored red, green, and white – whatever those are.
  • Clothes are produced in just one design and only 4 color choices.
  • Sizes and cut of the clothes are strange – certainly not what the buying public is used to – and don’t fit any normal humans.
  • Defects are not weeded out before shipment to the stores, so you never know if you have zippers with pulls, buttons that have matching buttonholes, or linings that your arms can fit through.
  • The stores only receive one shipment of these seasonal items and they arrive 6 months ahead of the holiday.
  • The number of ugly and useless items is far greater than any possible good deals, but the good deals are the only ones advertised.
  • You spend twelve hours standing in line for one of the advertised computers only to have some stocker toss them over your head and into the crowd at the designated sale hour. The only customers to get these items are the ones who just walked into the area.
  • When you try to return the gifts that don’t fit more than a day after Christmas and you don’t have your receipt, the price has been cut by 75%.
  • You can’t exchange it for something that does fit or that you will use because the store is already sold out and will not be getting any more.

If Major Corporations Ran Christmas

  • If IBM ran Christmas…
    They would want one big Santa, dressed in blue, where kids queue up for their present-processing. Receiving presents would take about 24-36 hours of mainframe processing time.
  • If Microsoft ran Christmas…
    Each time you bought an ornament, you would have to buy a tree as well. You wouldn’t have to take the tree, but you still have to pay for it anyway. Ornament/95 would weigh 1500 pounds (requiring a reinforced steel countertop tree), draw enough electricity to power a small city, take up 95% of the space in your living room, would claim to be the first ornament that uses the colors red/green together. It would interrogate your other decorations to find out who made them. Most everyone would hate Microsoft ornaments, but nonetheless would buy them since most of the other tree types wouldn’t work with their hooks.
  • If Apple ran Christmas…
    It would do everything the Microsoft ornaments do, but years earlier, and with a smaller mouse (not stirring of course).
  • If Silicon Graphics ran Christmas…
    Ornaments would be priced slightly higher, but would hang on the tree remarkably quickly. Also the colors of the ornaments would be prettier than most all the others. Options would be available for ‘equalization’ of color combinations on the tree.
  • If Dell ran Christmas…
    Wait a minute? Isn’t IBM running this Christmas..??
  • If Fisher Price ran Christmas…
    “Baby’s First Ornament” would have a hand-crank that you turn to hang the thing on the tree.
  • If The Rand Corporation ran Christmas…
    The ornaments would be large perfectly smooth and seamless black cubes. Christmas morning there would be presents for everyone, but no one would know what they were. Their service department would have an unlisted phone number, and be located at the North Pole. Blueprints for ornaments would be highly classified government documents. X-Files would have an episode about them.
  • If the NSA ran Christmas…
    Your ornaments would have a secret trap door that only the NSA could access in case they needed to monitor your tree for reasons of national security.
  • If DEC ran Christmas…
    We used to have Christmas back in the ’70s, didn’t we?
  • If Hewlett-Packard ran Christmas…
    They would market the Reverse Polish Ornament, which is put in your attic on the weekend after Thanksgiving, and placed out for viewing the day after the January Bowl Games.
  • If Sony ran Christmas…
    Their Personal Xmas-ing Device, which would be barely larger than an ornament and flat, would allow you to celebrate the season with a device attached conveniently to your belt.
  • If the Franklin Mint ran Christmas…
    Every month, you would receive another lovely hand-crafted item from an authentic Civil War pewter ornament collection. Each ornament would weight about 7 pounds, and require you to pay shipping and handling charges.
  • If Cray ran Christmas…
    The holiday season would cost $16 million but would be celebrated faster than any other holiday during the year.
  • If Thinking Machines ran Christmas…
    You would be able to hang over 64,000 ornaments on your tree (all identical) at the same time.
  • If Timex ran Christmas…
    The holiday would be cheap, small, quartz-crystal driven, and would let you take a licking and keep on shopping.
  • If Radio Shack ran Christmas…
    The staff would sell you ornaments, but not know anything about them or what they were for. Or you could buy parts to build your own tree.
  • If K-Tel ran Christmas…
    Ornaments would not be sold in stores, but when you purchased some, they would be accompanied by a free set of Ginsu knives.
  • If University of Waterloo ran Christmas…
    They would immediately change the name to WatMas.

I Am Thankful

Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. I’m telling you in advance, so don’t act surprised. Since Ms. Stewart won’t be coming, I’ve made a few small changes:

  • Our sidewalk will not be lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries. After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.
  • Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make. Instead, I’ve gotten the kids involved in the decorating by having them track in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their idea.
  • The dining table will not be covered with expensive linens, fancy china, or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and everyone will get a fork.
  • Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last Christmas.
  • Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog-like decoration hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The artist assures me it is a turkey.
  • We will be dining fashionably late. The children will entertain you while you wait. I’m sure they will be happy to share every choice comment I have made regarding Thanksgiving, pilgrims and the turkey hotline. Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00 a.m. upon discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut diamonds.
  • As accompaniment to the children’s recital, I will play a recording of tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don’t own a recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds suspiciously like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are lying.
  • We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional method. We’ve also decided against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke alarm sounds, please gather around the table and sit where you like.
  • In the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children to sit at a separate table. In a separate room. Next door.
  • Now, I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey in front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be happening at our dinner. For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private ceremony. I stress “private” meaning: Do not, under any circumstances, enter the kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small, unsuspecting children to check on my progress. I have an electric knife. The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that I will eventually win. When I do, we will eat.
  • I would like to take this opportunity to remind my young diners that “passing the rolls” is not a football play. Nor is it a request to bean your sister in the head with warm tasty bread.
  • Oh, and one reminder for the adults: For the duration of the meal, and especially while in the presence of young diners, we will refer to the giblet gravy by its lesser-known name: Cheese Sauce. If a young diner questions you regarding the origins or type of Cheese Sauce, plead ignorance. Cheese Sauce stains.
  • Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small fingerprints. You will still have a choice; take it or leave it.

Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. She probably won’t come next year either.

I am thankful.